said in a tone of great contempt; and although her stepmother looked
after her longingly, Cecile was obliged to leave the room and go to
comfort and pet Maurice.

The poor little girl's own heart was very heavy; she dreaded this
harsh new voice and face that had come into her life. It did not
matter very greatly for herself, Cecile thought, but Maurice--Maurice
was very tender, very young, very unused to unkindness. Was it
possible that Aunt Lydia would be unkind to little Maurice? How he
would look at her with wonder in his big brown eyes, bigger and
browner than English eyes are wont to be, and try hard to understand
what it all meant, what the new tone and the new words could possibly
signify; for Mrs. D'Albert, though she never professed to love the
children, had always been just to them, she had never given them
harsh treatment or rude words. It is true Cecile's heart, which was
very big, had hungered for more than her stepmother had ever offered;
but Maurice had felt no want, he had Cecile to love him, Toby to pet
him; and Mrs. D'Albert always gave him the warmest corner by the
hearth, the nicest bits to eat, the best of everything her poor and
struggling home afforded. Maurice was rather a spoiled little boy;
even Cecile, much as she loved him, felt that he was rather spoiled;
all the harder now would be the changed life.

But Cecile had something else just at present to make her anxious
and unhappy. She was a shrewd and clever child; she had not been
tossed about the world for nothing, and she could read character with
tolerable accuracy. Without putting her thoughts into regular words,
she yet had read in that hard new face a grasping love of power, an
eager greed for gold, and an unscrupulous nature which would not
hesitate to possess itself of what it could. Cecile trembled as she